


Love in Times of Need

by Zi_Night



Series: Elia Week [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Elia Fests, Elia Martell-centric, F/F, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Elia Martell, Pining, Pre-Femslash, Rhaegar Neutral, Tourney at Harrenhal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zi_Night/pseuds/Zi_Night
Summary: Day 2: Love Interest"The moment she sees the blue flower crown Rhaegar has prepared, she knows that something is amiss. The few times her husband had ever given her flowers they had been orange or yellow. Rhaegar had never given her blue flowers and she had never expressed interest in blue flowers. There was no reason from him to decide to give them to her now."
Relationships: (Background) Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Ashara Dayne/Elia Martell
Series: Elia Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950721
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Love in Times of Need

The moment she sees the blue flower crown Rhaegar has prepared, she knows that something is amiss. The few times her husband had ever given her flowers they had been orange or yellow. Rhaegar had never given her blue flowers and she had never expressed interest in blue flowers. There was no reason from him to decide to give them to her now.

As a squire sets the crown on the end of Rhaegar’s lance, she thrusts her daughter into Oberyn’s arms. Rhaenys goes easy, always happy to be bounced arm from arm, and Oberyn gently cradles her daughter to his chest. “Don’t upset my daughter,” she says with a sharpness that makes even her brother quail. He bounces Rhaenys in his arms and looks at her with wide eyes.

Next to her, Ashara reaches out to gently touch her arm, but the soft questioning “Elia” gets lost in the pomp of Rhaegar riding back to present his flower crown to his queen of love and beauty. She doesn’t look at her husband as he moves this way. Instead she looks straight ahead, staring out at the crowd of smallfolk before her, her face a careful mask.

She doesn’t really notice what happens next. She feels like she is no longer in her body, that she is watching this happen to someone else. As Rhaegar rides past her, the crowd stops shouting and jumping and clapping to watch, openly bewildered. She is only half aware of the hush that falls over everyone present. Of the silence that falls over the space like a trap sprung. Of how Ashara and Oberyn crane their heads to see where her husband is going.

She doesn’t really notice her husband hand over the crown to someone else, she just assumes that is what happens as Oberyn and Ashara bristle and straighten around her like walls. It was good she listened to her instincts and gave Oberyn her daughter because, even without focusing on him, she can feel the rage radiating off her brother. Her brother was slow to truly anger, but there was always the chance that he gave in to impulse. Still, even at his angriest he loved his family and he would do as she asked him.

For once, she is grateful for Aerys’s lack of situational awareness because the man closes the tourney as though nothing of note happened. She stands up after other people get up to leave, trying to make sure she doesn’t look too eager to escape. Oberyn and Ashara rise with her, acting like guard dogs against anyone who may want to approach her. Whatever looks her companions are wearing must be pretty intimidating because no one even tries to come and talk to her. She can still feel eyes on her like fingers on her skin.

Her little cluster heads off to the carriages where they are joined by her uncle and Corissa. Her nurse makes quick work of finding them a cart and before she knows it they are in a carriage heading back towards Harrenhal. She takes Rhaenys back once their cart starts moving. Her daughter grabs a fistful of her dress and rests her ear against her chest. Ashara and Corissa press against her sides, her uncle rides on the bench with the driver, and Oberyn sits across from her.

Her brother’s arms are crossed across his chest and his foot taps against the floor. As the carriages begins to pick up speed his tapping doesn’t stop, if anything it gets more aggressive. Eventually, his rage seems to boil to a point and he grits out a pained “Elia.”

“Oberyn,” she says mildly. In this moment her head is blessedly empty. All she is aware of is the warm touch of Corissa and Ashara against her sides, the weight of her daughter on her chest, and the faint smell of jasmine in the air. _It’s Ashara’s perfume. She likes smelling a bit like her home._

“What-“ her brother bites back the rest of whatever he wants to say. She can see his face twitch as he thinks through whatever he wants to say. She knows that Oberyn loves her and he wants to protect her, but also that he does not want to act on her behalf. Oberyn knows her better than anyone, he knows that she does not like people doing things in her name. He knows that if she does not ask for a champion she does not want a champion. She is sure that it is a delicate balance for him, bursting at the seams with righteous anger but also not wanting to overstep her boundaries. “What do you want me to do,” is what he settles on.

“To remain civil.” Oberyn twists his mouth like he has bitten into a sour lemon. She has no doubt that her little brother wants action. That, if she asked him, he would challenge her husband to a duel in the courtyard. _I have no doubt that he would win. Rhaegar is not the most skilled of fighters._ “Today is the last day of the tourney. Now is not the time for picking fights and demanding action. Now is the time to put out fires and to smother scandal before it has the chance to grow.”

It is obvious Oberyn does not like her call. She is pretty sure Ashara and Corissa don’t like it either from how neither of them jump to agree with her. Still, her brother agrees with a terse nod of his head and she feels tension ooze out of her body. She melts against Ashara’s side and tries to enjoy these few blessed minutes of nothing.

They arrive at the castle too quickly. She was on the edge of being lulled into sleep when the carriage begins to slow to a stop. Once they are in the castle she begins her work. She asks Ashara to gather her ladies, she asks her uncle to find any knights he knows are loyal to them and their house, she asks Oberyn to stick by her side, and she asks Corissa to take Rhaenys, who had fallen asleep on the ride, back to her room to nap.

She spends the next couple of hours ordering people around. She sends her ladies to go control the narrative, to downplay how bad this may look and to play up that Lyanna Stark is just a girl attending her first tourney, all of which she doesn’t learn until after she starts this triage. She sends the knights off to keep Lord Robert away from her husband and she sends the subtler ones to find out how the Starks are reacting to this. She keeps Oberyn by her side because he can’t seem to hold his tongue and keeps Ashara by her side because she can’t resist not doing so. They help her filter through the influx of information up until it is time for the tourney’s closing feast. At some point, Arthur shows up and, when questioned, reports that Aerys did not take well to the display. She does not ask him about her husband and he does not volunteer any information. If Rhaegar tries to reach out to her during all that chaos she doesn’t hear about it.

The final feast is late enough that Rhaenys does not have to attend, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it means that her daughter doesn’t have to endure the tension of the room and a curse because it means she has to be alone with Rhaegar. The room has mostly been divided by region so, as part of the royal family, she is seated at the head table surrounded by people from the crownlands. The lords from Dorne are off to her left and as easily as she can see Ashara and her brother carefully watching her, she cannot go to them. Instead she is alone next to Rhaegar, desperately trying not to disappear into her own mind because she knows people are watching her.

As much as she tries to stay present, she is only half paying attention as Lord Whent gives a speech to start off the feast. In the haze of Lord Whent speaking, she finds herself focused on an irregular beat. A quick and muted thump of something against wood. It takes her far too long to recognize that the sound is coming from Rhaegar tapping his finger against the table. On instinct, she lifts her own hand and settles it on his.

Her mouth pulls into a frown as she feels her husband’s hand vibrate under hers. When she looks him over, she finds Rhaegar buzzing in his seat. She feels her stomach sink as she realizes that he has the look of a man whose skin is too tight on his bones. “Rhaegar,” she whispers, “when was the last time you slept?”

All the motion of his body screeches to a halt, like a guilty child caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing. The stillness is disorienting after all the previous motion. “Days ago,” he confesses. And it is a confession because he always felt guilty about the moods that would sometimes possess him.

She is careful not to wince when he tells her how long he has gone without sleep. She had been too distracted to notice with Ashara and her brother and the tourney. She was aware of the agitated states her husband sometimes fell into. She knew that he needed someone to help him stay grounded when those states came over him. She knew he tended to be more reckless when he hadn’t slept well. _But how was I supposed to do something about it when I hadn’t noticed the issue?_

She doesn’t get the chance to say anything back to him because Lord Whent finishes his speech. As they all clap their hands and make whatever other appropriate noises, the servers start appearing with food and drinks. The normal hum of a feast beings to pick up once the servers start appearing, as people begin to lean over to their neighbors to start chatting.

As the head table, dishes are first presented here before being swept off to the other tables. The table in front of her is quickly covered with pitchers of wine and water, warm loaves of freshly made bread, vegetables prepared in all sorts of manners, and meats off all kinds. It results in a delicious procession of smells, up until it doesn’t.

With a flourish, a server sets down a dish of braised pork, a food that she loved under normal circumstances. But as the server pulls up the cover, she finds herself overcome with a sense of nausea. She has never been a picky eater and, for all her other health issues, she has never had problems with her stomach and appetite, _except_ for one time soon after she was married.

Rhaegar seems to have the same realization she does. Even with a hand clamped over her mouth and nose, she can still see the complicated flash of emotions over her husband’s face. He waves the server off before leaning towards her. “Elia, if you need to go feel free to go.”

She is sure it is a calculated decision on his part. Aerys had been paranoid about poison for as long as she had been married to Rhaegar. Her gagging over food, regardless of the reason, was just asking for Aerys to make a scene. They couldn’t afford Aerys throwing a fit after everything else that had happened today.

She is also aware that she shouldn’t go. Rhaegar needed someone to keep him grounded. Someone to keep him from getting lost in all the things that swirled around in his head. Someone to temper the impulsiveness that took over him when he was in these moods. And that someone had to be her because she was the only person who truly knew how to handle Rhaegar when these moods overtook him, he’d told her so himself.

She looks up as she tries to think of the right decision, and she finds herself making eye contact with Brandon Stark. She’d heard quite a bit about the man and his reputation over the course of the tourney. Of his brashness and his licentiousness. Of how angry he was over what Rhaegar had done earlier today. It is because of those rumors that she finds herself so surprised to see that the man is looking at her with what looks like pity. For the first time today she finds herself overcome with strong emotion. She finds herself feeling mortified.

She nods her head at Rhaegar and he makes some gesture behind her back. There is the muffled sound of footsteps before Rhaegar says, “Arthur, if you could take my wife back to her room.” She hears Arthur murmur his assent and then she slowly gets out of her chair. Her cheeks are burning when Arthur offers her his arm and she keeps her head down in the hopes that no one will notice. No matter what she tells herself, she is painfully aware that she is fleeing.

Behind her, she can vaguely hear Rhaegar explaining her departure to his father. She’s sure that the only reason Aerys lets them leave is because he doesn’t like Arthur. That dislike is not really a surprise to her. Arthur had a strong moral presence, he never needed to voice his disapproval because you could just _feel_ his disapproval when he was standing nearby. With all the sins Aerys had committed, she couldn’t imagine the judgement he felt when around Arthur.

They walk back to her room in silence. With everyone else in the dining hall there is no one to run into in the halls. She can feel exhaustion being to bleed into her bones. Her fatigue makes her lean her weight against Arthur, though he is kind enough not to say anything. She is done for today, she just wants to rest.

Corissa doesn’t ask her any questions when they arrive at her room. Corissa informs her that Rhaenys just fell asleep and tactfully departs when she is dismissed. It is Arthur who lingers as she steps into her room. He stands hovering at her door as she peers over her daughter’s crib to watch her sleep.

Before Arthur can work up the nerve to say whatever he wants to say, she says, “Thank you for your assistance Arthur. Please don’t let me keep you from the celebrations.”

There is a slight pause before she hears Arthur say, “As you wish Elia.” _He is always so respectful of another’s boundaries. Sometimes to his own detriment._

The door shuts with a click behind him, but she stays watching her daughter for a little bit longer. Rhaenys must be having exciting dreams because she is kicking in her sleep. She runs her fingers through the dark tuft of hair on Rhaenys’s head before getting ready for bed. She strips down to her shift, unpins her hair, and washes her face. She crawls into her bed but doesn’t go to sleep, instead she just lays there and tries not to think.

When she hears the door of her room open without announcement, she knows it can only be a handful of people. There were very few people who were assured enough in her affection that they were confident she would allow such a breach of privacy. Still, she doesn’t really want to see most of them, so instead of sitting up to see who it is she closes her eyes and wraps her arms around her ribs. In the darkness, she can hear the rustling of fabric. After a moment, the bed dips across from her and she feels the blanket she was curled under lift away from her body.

When she opens her eyes, it is to Ashara laying across from her. Her friend has also stripped down to her shift and her unbound hair curls around her shoulder to lay against her collarbone. Ashara looks at her with her large lilac eyes, softly asks “How are you feeling”, and she feels something inside of her begin to crack.

She has always been weak to tenderness, and has always yearned for gentle touches and honeyed words, so to get that now when she feels like the day has been spiraling into chaos is quietly devastating. The moment her eyes being to water, Ashara pulls her into her chest. She presses her forehead against Ashara’s clavicle and takes a few shuddering breaths. Something inside of her settles as Ashara smooths her hair and rubs circles against her back.

After a moment, her breathing has evened out and she feels less like she is going to fall apart. The world doesn’t exist past her room, past the little bubble of warmth between her and Ashara. Every point of contact between her and Ashara hums contently; the arm she has looped around Ashara’s waist, the hand Ashara has resting in between her shoulder blades, her hip pressing against Ashara’s thigh, Ashara’s cheek pressed against the top of her head, and the tangle of their legs pressed together. Things are not better, but she feels at peace.

“Elia,” Ashara breaths into her hair.

“Ashara,” she murmurs into the other woman’s skin.

“Elia,” she says more insistently. A second later, she feels hands on her cheeks, pulling her head back and away from Ashara’s collarbone. She looks into soft lilac eyes and she feels a flush begin to bloom on her cheeks. “Elia, come back to Dorne with me.” Of all the things she was expecting Ashara to say it was not this. “And your brother,” she amends, flushing slightly from her own boldness. “Give Rhaenys the chance to meet your homeland and her cousins. She will love Dorne. They will love her.” She can read in between the lines. Ashara is offering to help whisk her and Rhaenys away, to a place she loves full of people who love her.

She should say no. She should be a dutiful princess and fix the political scandal that is brewing. She should be a dutiful lady and go back to Dragonstone to help manage the castle. She should be a dutiful wife and stay with her husband through her pregnancy. “Going to Dorne would be nice,” she says. _I’d go with you anywhere,_ is what she thinks.


End file.
